A Ghost of a Chance Page 5

  Jack didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. He charged at young Keenan with fists curled, teeth bared, and a roar of alcoholic rage. The booze was making Jack sloppy or he would have figured out what Keenan would do next. When Jack was almost on top of him, Keenan lifted both of his long legs from the ground and caught Jack right in the stomach. Jack doubled over Keenan’s feet and Keenan pushed with all his might. Jack’s body hit the far wall at full impact. He crumpled into a heap on the floor groaning.

  Keenan got up off the carpet and bent over to get air back into his lungs. His mother jumped up and for the first time in years, he thought she was going to hug him. He was wrong.

  When his mother reached him, she hauled off and slapped him across the face. “You son of a bitch! You hurt him!” The gin-drenched words permeated every inch of his awareness and cut his heart in half. She ran to her drunken husband and cooed over his misfortune.

  Keenan didn’t stay. He pulled the front door open with such force he heard glass break on the wall behind it. He didn’t care. Leaving the door open, Keenan disappeared into the night.

  Why that particular recollection happened to snap into his mind at that moment was beyond him.

  He had had an entire night to get his tangled nerves to behave, but it was no good; he just couldn’t get it out of his head and had been too exhausted to stay at home and confront his broken bedroom anymore. Keenan had finally stumbled to the Bagdad Theater Saturday afternoon for popcorn and a micro-brew, his favorite comfort food. But the movie was as listless and depressing as his mood, so he left early.

  As he passed the yuppie shops on his way home from the theater, the memory of Jack stood up between his ears like a marauding bear. It made his stomach cringe and usually he pushed it down as quickly as it came up, but now it was stark against the inside of his eyelids. He forced his mind to think instead about what happened later that night.

  He was so enraged, young Keenan started to walk. The pounding of the sidewalk was all he was aware of for hours. It barely registered, but as he moved along, each streetlight he passed went dark, some in a shower of sparks. Something wrong with the electricity, maybe, but he didn’t care; heartsick and numb, Keenan finally decided to let his feet take him wherever they wanted to go. Where he ended up startled him at first, but it eventually made a kind of sense.

  Laurelhurst Park was an oasis tucked in the middle of southeast Portland. Thirty acres of lush stands of green, expanses of well-tended lawns, and a huge pond that housed hundreds of swans, geese, and ducks, the park had been a mainstay of Keenan’s childhood. His best memories were of chasing the squawking birds and throwing pieces of stale bread to feed them.

  His feet apparently knew something he didn’t because when they finally stopped it was at the edge of that same pond.

  Keenan figured it must have been midnight. Low clouds had snuck in while he walked, obscuring the stars, the moon, and anything else that might have been in the sky that night. He had never been to the park this late; it was pitch black except for the far away lights on the street that surrounded it.

  Apparently, the birds had all gone to bed because there wasn’t a sound except the swish of the water as it lightly lapped the shore.

  He sat down on the bank and finally let the tears come. It was only the second time in Keenan’s life that he allowed grief to take over his self-control. The first had been when his mother had forgotten him when he was four and no one could find her. She appeared the next morning all sunshine and apologies, but even at that ripe young age, Keenan knew she had spent the night at the bar… or somewhere even more unsavory.

  The tears on this particular night were abundant; they washed over his heart until everything trembled into sobs. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but finally the tears dried up and he was able to breathe without the waterworks. A kind of euphoria settled over his shoulders that spun the matter between his ears. He felt better.

  With a final deep sigh, he focused on the water, uncertain what his next move should be. A mist had gathered over the lake until it hung in a sheet of white that illuminated the trees around him. Keenan was impressed; he had never seen fog this thick.

  It was only then that something caught his eye… something that shouldn’t exist.

  The clouds parted and out of the water rose a black woman in a ratty blue housedress with large curlers all over her head. She had no legs that he could see, and he could just make out the lake through her. It was very disconcerting and Keenan couldn’t make any sense out of it.

  Apparently, there were geese on the water because all of a sudden the air exploded with their noisy squawks, their wings flapping like crazy, their necks thrust out toward the opposite shore as they churned little yellow legs as fast as they would go.

  Keenan got to his feet not believing what it was he was seeing. When she smiled at him, everything went loose and he wet himself.

  “Hello, honey. It’s a beautiful night, don’t you think.” It was the second time Keenan had seen a ghost, but the first time one had actually talked to him. He began a journey that would take him to worlds few living even knew existed.

  * * * *

  When Keenan got to his house, he unlocked his front door, balancing what was left of the large popcorn he had brought with him from the theater. He heard a familiar voice drifting in from the living room and smiled. Constance was back.

  He was never happier to see her drifting there surrounded by a dozen other ghosts. The conversation took an abrupt halt as soon as he came into view.

  “Kee…” Constance floated across the room, fading out and in as she went.

  “Where the hell have you been?” The voice coming out of Keenan’s mouth was unsettling. It sounded mad.

  Constance stopped a few feet from him and put translucent fists on phantom hips. “Well that’s a fine howdy-do.” She shooed the rest of the ghosts away and followed him to the couch. Her normally joyous face crinkled with concern. Keenan swallowed hard against the fear creeping up his gut.

  “Sorry I disappeared last night.” She hovered above the coffee table, her curlers bouncing up and down every time she moved. When she looked down at her hands, she said a little sheepishly, “She wasn’t too rough, was she?”

  Keenan rubbed his eyes and rested the popcorn container on his knees. “I’m fine. Just a little shaky. Reggie told me about her last night. He says she probably won’t show up again.”

  It was hard for him to keep the disappointment out of his voice and even harder to admit he had actually enjoyed it. Something deep inside him wanted more of what happened last night. Wanted it so bad, it was suffocating his normally cautious responses. That scared him…it was just too creepy. He sat back, took a handful of popcorn, and stuffed it into his mouth.

  Constance folded her arms and pulled back her chin. “Something you not tellin’ me, child?”

  The last thing Keenan was going to do was discuss his sex life with Constance. He had enough problems talking to her about his regular life. “I just want to forget about it, Cee,” he said through a mouth of popcorn.

  “You need to be careful, Kee,” she scolded. “The more she touches ya, the harder it’ll be ta walk away. What if she comes back tonight?”

  Keenan shrugged and counted the kernels on the top of the tub. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

  “She’s dangerous.”

  “I know.”

  “She can kill you.”

  “I know that too.”

  Constance’s ample bosom rose and fell in a very audible capitulation. “All right, have it your own way. I looked up one of the old ones last night. He told me a little somethin’ about this one.”

  Keenan put the popcorn on the table and brushed his hands. “Look, she’ll probably never show up again, Cee. I told you I’m all right. Quit hovering.”

  She moved over to stand next to him and her face softened. “That’s what I’m here for, Kee.” Lifting a vaporous hand, she circled his face
without touching him. “No matter what, ya need to know I’m here t’ protect you. Even when things don’t seem quite right. You understand me?”

  Something in her face sent a strange premonition through his guts. “Sure, Cee.” But he wasn’t really sure if he did.

  She stood straight, licked her plump lips, and squared her shoulders. “You need t’ hear what the old timer said.”

  Keenan rested his neck against the back of the couch. Putting his legs up on the coffee table, he decided it was probably best to humor her. More Creole mumbo jumbo, he was sure. “All right.”

  “Her name is Dabria. She was a lower angel of the nine choirs up ‘til ‘bout five hundred years ago. A Muse, some say. She was on earth to work with her mentor, Amos, one o’ the principalities.

  “Princa…what?”

  “Didn’t ya ever go to Sunday school, child? I swear what you don’t know would fill a library.” She clicked her tongue. “Seventh of the nine choirs assigned to guide humans.”

  “Oh,” was all Keenan could manage, vaguely remembering something about the nine choirs. He’d look it up later.

  “Anyway, while on earth, she fell in love with a human, an artist from Florence, name of Luciano Moretti. It was a trap set by one of the fallen, Azazel…”

  “This is just Catholic horseshit, Cee. There’s no such thing as angels or demons…”

  “There was no such thing as ghosts a few years ago, remember?”

  That stopped him cold. She had a point. “Oh, yeah. Continue.”

  “Thank you,” she said tossing her head. “Anyway, Azazel killed the man and enslaved Dabria, turning her into a succubus. She escaped the demon, but was bound to this Earth to live out her days as a creature that had to seduce men to survive.” Constance’s eyes dimmed for a moment. “I kind o’ feel sorry for the poor thing, truth be told. Weren’t her fault… love can be mighty powerful, even for angels.” There was a sadness in her eyes that Keenan had never seen before and it bothered him.

  “You okay, Cee?”

  She looked up and smiled. “Nothin’ t’ fret on, boy.” She moved to the other end of the couch and scanned the room. “Maybe you should leave, Kee.”

  Keenan leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He didn’t want to leave. In fact, he hoped she would come back. It was tying his stomach in knots.

  “I’m not leaving my house, Cee,” he said.

  Constance glided to the other side of the room and turned her head to him. “Do what ya think is right, Kee. Once she’s here, we can’t be there for ya. Maybe ya can get through t’ her, maybe not. If ya try, remember she was an angel once who loved a man. There may be something left of her heart.” She shimmered in the light briefly then disappeared.

  Chapter Six

  A Haunting Refrain

  What woke Keenan a few hours later was a hiss in his ear. He forced his eyes open and blinked at the nature show droning on the TV in his living room. After rubbing them, he focused on the myrtle wood clock hanging behind it. Midnight on the nose.

  Dozens of specters filled the room. Some were floating, some sitting, or standing, or lying, or other “ings” that were decidedly wrong on many, many levels. Keenan stood to stretch and took his time with a deep, satisfying yawn. Midway through it, the lights, and the ghosts, snapped off. The room went dark, silent, and empty.

  He choked on the yawn and bent over with a coughing fit. When it was over, Keenan banged his shin against the coffee table and swore at it.

  “Okay…this isn’t funny,” he yelled at the living room. “Reggie, if that’s you jacking with me, I…”

  The words caught in this throat when a shadow traveled in front of the two large windows facing the street. Headlights came through it in glistening stars as it moved toward him.

  Fear started as a hot ice pick shoved into the base of his neck and settled over his face.

  He took a step back but hit his legs against the sofa and fell, landing with a thud on his ass. The shadow flitted back and forth in slow, even movements, giving Keenan enough time to get his feet on the floor and his butt off the couch.

  Scuttling to the right, he found enough empty space to turn and run straight into his dining room table, smashing his right hip against the very solid fine oak.

  He stopped breathing long enough to let the endorphins kick in and rubbed the injury fast to move them along.

  The succubus materialized in front of him. She was even more beautiful than she had been the night before, though her face still hid behind an enticing mist. Keenan reached into a spot he didn’t use very often—self-discipline. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do. His resolve was paper-thin.

  He put up his hands and backed away from her, knowing he’d have to talk fast, before he surrendered.

  “Look, as much as I loved last night…and believe me, I did…you have to understand that your visits are probably not very healthy for me. I’m sure you’re a very nice…entity and all, but honestly, I think once is enough.”

  The form hovered in front of him as if thinking, the hair flowing in liquid wisps around her head. Keenan edged toward the front door.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice came out a bit shaky, but not bad, all things considered. “I really am.” And he really was. “But, there’s this woman I’m seeing and, well, I don’t want to hurt her and…”

  All hell broke loose.

  A high-pitched sound, almost like a scream, filled the house. Windows exploded outward. All the smoke detectors went off at once. Everything in the room not tied down lifted into the air. It swirled together until the stuff formed a cyclone that swept through the darkness.

  The stunning shadowed spirit swelled in front of Keenan until her head hit the ceiling and her body crammed the room. Waves of what Keenan could only describe as jealously saturated his skin. He was terrified.

  “Dabria, right?” he shouted in desperation. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, but it was the only thing he could think of.

  It worked; she stopped growing and held still.

  “Dabria,” he repeated, taking the moment to move his back against the dining room wall. “Isabella is very special to me. I really want a chance with her.” He swallowed hard, not knowing if the succubus would kill him now or do it after she seduced him. Who could blame him if he hoped for the latter?

  “I…you’re very nice and last night was wonderful, but…please…I think you know what it means to be in love. At least I hope so.” The words came out in a rushing flood of babbles. “I don’t want to betray her…I mean, I don’t really even know her and you’re so…oh man, I want you in the worst way, believe me. You are so…hot…” He cut off the word but it tumbled out of his mouth unsupervised. Squeezing his eyes tight and melting into the wallpaper at his back, he waited for the fatal strike.

  It didn’t come.

  He opened one eye a slit to find out why.

  The shadow deflated in one swift whoosh and the whirlwinds came to an abrupt halt, sending everything crashing to the floor.

  When he heard Reggie’s voice in his ear, his heart stopped. He shot a glance at his transparent friend floating next to the open door. “Run, you idiot. Do you want to die?”

  The succubus shrank away from them, and Keenan, ping ponging looks from one to the other, took the opportunity to bite his lip before taking Reggie’s advice. Stumbling past the shadow, he jumped for the front door and darted outside. Without closing it or even looking back, he leapt down the steps and headed for the sidewalk.

  When he rushed by Smith’s house, he thought he saw the mousy man staring out the large front window, his mouth open, talking on his cell phone.

  Keenan headed down Thirty-Second Street, turned left onto Hawthorn, and ran like an antelope with a lion biting its tail.

  When he hit the crowd outside Taps at full speed, he came to a crashing halt and sailed to the ground, taking down two brawny beer drinkers, their respective girlfriends, and an innocent table that was sitting there mind
ing its own business. Four obviously full pints of stout flew through the air and the contents rained down on the struggling quintet in a dark brown shower, soaking all of them. Two of the empty pints hit Keenan squarely on the back of the head, one after the other.

  The tangled pile of human beings and beer began to disentangle itself, but Keenan’s head was spinning wildly. So wildly, in fact, that he didn’t feel himself roughly yanked to his feet then off of them, or see the swollen fist appear out of thin air until it was too late. All he heard was a distant son of a bitch and the sound of meaty flesh striking cheekbone.

  The sparklers that gleamed in front of his eyes reminded him of the Fourth of July on the coast. He found himself down on the ground again.

  “…you stupid prick!” The words soaked into his stupor and he squinted up to see six-foot-six of angry male mountain, a pleading red head attached to the man’s arm.

  Not that it would have stopped another blow, but Keenan forced his hands into the submissive position and tried to find his voice. “Oh, man…” he said to the mountain. “I’m really sorry. Are you all right?”

  That seemed to do the trick. The man stopped and dislodged the girl from his arm. “What the fuck?”

  “I didn’t see you,” Keenan said. “I was running from…” He feebly motioned down the street and the guy leaned against one leg, folding his arms.

  “What?” he said.

  “Some guys hijacked my car about five minutes ago.” It was feasible. There had been a rash of car thefts in the neighborhood. The mountain’s face softened. He looked concerned then greedy. Keenan took the opportunity to struggle to his feet. His spinning head was talking to his stomach, and not in a kind way.

  “Really? Where?” The words were a little too anxious.

  At a guess, the man and his buddy had probably been drinking since eight, so Keenan did the math: a pint of beer, say, every half hour for four hours…eight beers. Yah, pretty drunk. It looked like they were both pitching for a fight. Keenan gladly diverted their ambitions away from himself.